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#✘; ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ's ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ( ooc/ic ) #//LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

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#❤; ɪᴛ's ᴏɴʟʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ( stevemike ) #✘; ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɪɴᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴘʀɪᴀᴛᴇ ( nsfw ) #✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs )

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//cue rambling

#✘; [ OOC ] #//I haven't been very active here #but that's okay! I've been having a good time elsewhere #between rekindling old fandoms #and talking to AMAZING FRIENDS #I'm considering making a Tolkien blog #Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe Azog #there aren't a lot of blogs out there for the character and #I feel like people really misunderstand the character

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#✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs ) #♚; sʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ ( Steve )

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#✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs ) #⌘; ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ sʜᴇʟʟ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ( self )

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iwanrheondaily:

Iwan Rheon in S.U.M. 1 (2/2)

#✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs ) #⌘; ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ sʜᴇʟʟ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ( self ) #Ʋ; ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀ ɢᴀɴɢsᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ( criminal )

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OPEN

Shaking hands, bloodstained clothes. He’s not a dangerous sort of man. He had pulled his shirt off mechanically, which was the BLOODIEST article of clothing out of anything he’s wearing. He drops it to the floor and fumbles to start the shower. Get CLEAN. Get the evidence DESTROYED-- washed away-- needing the dirty feeling to go away. He’s not a dangerous sort of man. He doesn’t do these kinds of things. Not like others he knows. He doesn’t maim and frighten and KILL. He shudders as he gets the pants off next, then socks and underwear. There he stands, before the slowly-steaming bathroom MIRROR and takes in his pallor, blood trickling its way down his skin from the splatter on his face and neck. He has a couple of bruises from the fight. He didn’t expect he’d snap. He’s not a dangerous sort of man, but perhaps because of that, he truly IS.

#//ye it open to mutuals #✘; ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ( untitled )

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call out post

@soulbiinds r ghey n rly rude n they juke me all the time in dbd

#✘; ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ( ooc )

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@spriiingtrap

               “Okay, so I managed to get the cake finished-- it’s cooling and it needs icing.” Icing that he made himself and is smudged on one cheek accidentally. “And the presents are wrapped-- all of them, but I’ve got a few in bags that you can open now if you want. There’s also a little something on the coffee table for you and I’m running to the store to get some more stuff....” Mike trails off, shrugging a shoulder, tone coy. “....unless you want me to stay here?”

#✘; ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ( short )

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#✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs ) #⌘; ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ sʜᴇʟʟ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ( self ) #Ʋ; ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀ ɢᴀɴɢsᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ( criminal )

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Keep reading

THE TRUTH IS A DAMNING THING, MORE OFTEN THAN NOT.                Harley knows this from personal experience. And these experiences twisted CRUELTY around a blue and red heart. Slowly he rises to his feet, boots touching down at shoulder width on the tile floor as he assesses their ‘guest’. He’s a sight to behold, no doubt, between the tight leather shorts, knee-high boots decked in gold spikes, and the diamond-patterned top... the wristwatches along one arm are just a final touch. He’s treated  himself to four tonight from four DEAD MEN. It’s a pity T didn’t have a nice watch, because then it would be five.

               “I’d expect better manners if it weren’t for being raised by a DRUGGIE BITCH like your mother.” Is the vile words wrapped in a sugar sweet voice. Harley had the cutest smile for such an atrocious turn of phrase, and his assessment of his victim was no-doubt correct, given the flinch. Golden nails reach out and gently perch under T’s chin so that he’ll look up, once Harley is close enough to reach out. He slides his hand up to marvel at the tattoos along T’s scalp, tongue darting out over cherry-chapstick lips.

              “How does it feel to know someone else is holding your LIFE in their hand, sweetie?” Harley purrs, mulling over in his head what way to EXECUTE this twisted pile of garbage. “Not so good when you’re on the other side of it, hm? Although... if I were to be truly fair...”

               Slowly, Harley lowers himself down to straddle T’s LAP, fit and pale thighs hugging the material of his shirt as he wiggles his hips suggestively on him. “I’d get you to trust me. I’d get you to rely on me. And then I would SMOTHER you in carcinogens until you stopped twitching. And you WOULDN’T come back. But thankfully...”

               The brief glint is the only warning before the knife has swung around from behind his back to RIP into T’s cheek, where he knows the gap between rows of teeth is, and viciously starts CARVING. Toned thighs keep him pinned-- all the muscle isn’t just for show after all-- and Harley continues to work, giggling softly under his breath. “...I know how to improvise.”

               Harley grins as he does the same to the other side of T’s face, MAIMING him with a smile in perfect line of sight for his puddin to catch every second of it. Look, his actions say-- a brief glance over his shoulder-- look at what I’ve done for you. Look at the pain I’ve caused for you. Look at the blood I’ve spilled for you. Look at the lives I take for you. FOR YOU.

                The son of a bitch was still alive, and Harley had cut just so to ensure it. He wasn’t an idiot and T had yet to hit strike three. That was about to change, however, as Harley grabbed him around the throat and held him in place, looking to Steve. “I think, T, sweetie, you owe my puddin’ an APOLOGY. And if I’m not convinced.... we’ll do more than make you SMILE PRETTY.”

#✘; ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ( untitled ) #♚; sʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ ( Steve ) #❤; ɪᴛ's ᴏɴʟʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ( stevemike ) #Ʋ; ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀ ɢᴀɴɢsᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ( criminal )

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imagine your ot3 going on midnight shopping runs

who’s already tipsy and clinging to the other’s the whole way through the store, giggling

who keeps up an endless commentary on everything they pass and what they could use it for

who keeps putting unnecessary items into the cart/basket

who keeps putting those items back on the shelves

who actually pays at the counter, and gets sympathetic looks from the cashier

#✘; ɪғ ᴡɪsʜᴇs ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ( wishlist ) #❤; ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀᴇʀꜱ ( edstevemike )

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#✘; ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ( ooc )

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soulbiinds:

❝ What the fuck did you just say Michael? ❞

“I didn’t say anything.”

#✘; ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ( short )

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#✘; ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴀᴅᴇ ( photographs ) #⌘; ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ sʜᴇʟʟ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ( self )

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soulbiinds:

❝ Well…it started when I was fifteen. Steve was eighteen. So…you can imagine the rest. ❞

“......fuck.”

#✘; ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ( short )

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soulbiinds:

❝ Take a break then. Steve can take care of it later…or we can just get new shirts. It’s no big deal, really. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to replace clothes over something like this. ❞

“Wait... how-- how many times have you actually done this?”

#✘; ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ( short )